Why?
by Simply-Cath
Summary: Andrew has some questions and gets some answers from a very, very reliable source. Set after the final episode.


This is my first Buffy fic in ages, so I hope you all enjoy it. 

TITLE: Why

AUTHOR: Catherine

EMAIL: Cath_Semerjian@hotmail.com

DISCLAIMER: All the characters mentioned herein belong to Joss Whedon and the Mutant Enemy corporation. I'm using the characters without permission and am not making a profit off this story. This is a work of fiction.

DISTRIBUTION: Please ask for my permission before posting this story on to an archive or mailing list or whatever.

RATING: PG for safety

CONTENT: Suicide themes, angst.

SPOILERS: Last episode of the series.

SUMMARY: Andrew has some questions. And he's going to get some answers from a very reliable source.

NOTES: This plot bunny has been bouncing around my head since the end of the series.

Why?

By: Catherine

It was kind of nice to get away from everyone for a bit. He needed some quiet, some time to think. And it was still weird to be around them: Xander, Giles, the other Slayers…especially Buffy.

It was a miracle any of them had survived. It was Buffy's doing. She was brilliant and brave like Princess Leia only with better hair. They were alive because of her. She had saved the world.

He was alive because of her.

It would have been nice to know why.

Sitting on the desolate bridge, legs dangling over the side, Andrew contemplated what he'd done to deserve his life. Everyone he'd ever cared about: his brother, Jonathan, Warren, they were all dead, but here he was, having done some inconsequential bit to save the world.

And really, he hadn't done all that much. Buffy, Willow, Spike; they'd saved the world, he'd just been along for the ride.

Maybe that was his fate: to be a follower, to see all these great, amazing things happen but never meant to do any of them. Even if he'd died, it would have had some meaning. He would have been a martyr. Like those X-Wing pilots who'd helped Luke attack the Death Star. It was hard to remember their names, but they'd done something noteworthy.

He was just some guy who happened to be around.

Or maybe it had been a mistake.

Maybe he was supposed to be dead. Fate was this huge machine overseeing everybody's lives everywhere. It could make mistakes. He could understand it overlooking someone as inconsequential as him. It wasn't like he'd ever make a difference in the world. Anya, there was someone who could have made a difference. She'd been so strong and so brave … so cool.

What had he done to live instead of her?

A mistake, it had to be.

Andrew rose to his feet, staring fixedly ahead. God, he hated heights. Fat had made a mistake in keeping him alive over people like Anya or Spike. It wouldn't really matter if he righted that little wrong. Sure, the gang had accepted him a little more after the big fight, but that as to be expected after all they'd gone through together. Things should never have come through in the first place. Hell, they probably wouldn't remember his name in a week. That actually made him feel kind of good. He hadn't done anything worth remembering anyway. Except maybe this. It wasn't everyone who could say they'd righted one of nature's mistakes.

"Disappearing socks in the dryer is a little mistake. You are not."

He didn't turn at the sound of the familiar voice. It would have been nice to see Anya again though. "Wh-what do you care?" He asked stiffly, his voice quivering just a little. "What do you care if some--?" Soldier on the side of light and justice popped into his mind, but he dismissed it. He was nowhere near worthy of that title. "What do you care?"

"I care because you're not done yet. There is still a lot in this world for you. He could picture her smiling, though he didn't dare look. "I've got some plans for you, Andrew."

"I know about you now," he choked out. "I know all about how you hurt and trick people. Y-you did it to be once before and I won't do your bidding again." Yeah, those seemed like good last words. Too bad no one would ever hear them.

"She's telling you to stop being such a stubborn little twerp and listen to me."

That definitely sounded like Anya. Andrew reluctantly turned around. She was standing there like he'd hoped/feared. She was smiling at him in a way he'd never seen from her before. She looked happy and healthy, but she was still dead. He peered at her as though trying to see through her disguise, to find some flaw. But there wasn't one. She looked exactly as she had before she died. "Wh-who are you?"

"Let me put it this way because it's easier. At the start of it all, there was nothing. Then there was The First. Then there was Me."

"Are you Go--?"

"I've been called that from time to time."

"Why me then? Why?" His voice was soft but tinged with desperation. "Why did they get to die and not me.?

"Because you've just gotten on to the right track again, Andrew. The First has been chipping at you longer than anyone. It was feeding off your grief and isolation years before the Slayer started getting her dreams. That also means you've been fighting it longer than anyone, but you never gave in. You might have strayed off your path, but never completely."

While she spoke, he sat down, facing her this time. "Why did they have to die?" He whispered.

"To make their accomplishments more memorable. Sacrifice and death are unfortunate staples of life."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Xander's twisted his ankle and he wouldn't have gotten here in time to keep you from undoing all my hard work."

"S-so I guess you're like… The Second, huh?"

Her lips curved into a broader, more familiar smile. "I guess you could say that."

"Andrew!"

He looked to his left and saw Xander approaching. He was limping. When he turned back, she was still there. And judging by the way Xander gaped, she wasn't just a hallucination either.

She walked up to Xander, putting her hand on his cheek. "She says that she loves and misses you." There was a pause and she cocked her head to the side as though listening to something. "She also says that she hopes she doesn't meet up with you again for a very, very long time."

She disappeared in the blink of an eye, although neither man had blinked.

There was a strange, faraway expression on Xander's face, but he was smiling. His fingers touched his cheek where hers had been. "I miss you too, An." He whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

Silence hung heavily between them for a time, each lost in their own thoughts.

It was Xander who spoke first. "Was that-?"

"She's on our side." Andrew assured him. 'Our side' didn't sound so funny when he said it now.

Xander struggled with that for a long time. "Why?"

Andrew pushed himself off the bridge and into a standing position. They started to head back to the bus. "I had some questions," he said simply. And it felt damned good to have some answers.

THE END

Hope you all liked this,

Catherine


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